


Fare Thee Well

by iwillgodownwiththisship84



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, Infidelity, M/M, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 06:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19126516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillgodownwiththisship84/pseuds/iwillgodownwiththisship84
Summary: Roger and Rafa team up again for the 2019 Laver Cup ahead of Rafa’s wedding...





	Fare Thee Well

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been working on this for months and finally decided to go ahead and post it in honour of Fedal Chapter 39, even though I’m not all that happy with it.
> 
> I’ve heard the rumours about Rafa getting married this month, but I’d already started writing this around the supposed ‘fall wedding’ so I’ve kept to that idea. I’m also aware that the full 2019 Laver Cup teams haven’t been confirmed yet so I’ve obviously chosen the other players myself!
> 
> The title comes from the American folk song ‘Fare Thee Well’ (also known as ‘Dink’s Song’) - my favourite version of this is sung by Rob Benedict on the TV show ‘Supernatural’ (Ep 11x20) - here’s a link to the video on YouTube: https://youtu.be/g4hQGrgkuvE
> 
> N.B. If you don’t speak Spanish or can’t be bothered to check Google Translate, I’ve added a list at the end of some of the Spanish words/phrases I’ve used.

 

_If I had wings like Noah’s dove,_

_I’d fly up the river to the one I love,_

_Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well._

 

With a chime the lift signalled its arrival at the ground floor and when the doors opened, Roger strode purposefully out into the lobby, only momentarily faltering in his step when he spotted Rafa at the reception desk.

His eyes drunk in the view, sliding over the Spaniard’s gorgeous form before he could stop himself and lingering on the delicious curve of his arse in his sinfully tight jeans. 

He bit his lip before dragging his gaze away just in time for Rafa to turn his head and see him, his lips immediately curving into a friendly smile.

Friends. That’s what they were...all that they were. And Roger had to remember that.

He donned a matching grin and strolled over to join the Spaniard as the concierge handed him the key card to his suite. The porter was already loading his luggage onto a trolley.

“ _Hola_ , Roger,” he greeted, taking Roger’s proffered hand and stepping into their familiar one-armed hug.

He looked relaxed and as always beautifully tanned, suggesting he’d spent the majority of his time off after New York out on his boat with his friends and Mery.

“How was your flight?”

“Was okay, no?” He knew Rafa wasn’t a big fan of flying. “The others are here yet?”

“Just Dominic and Sascha. I was on my way to meet them in the bar. Come and join us once you’re settled in.”

Rafa nodded, still smiling and picked up his racquet bag, patting Roger on the arm before heading towards the lifts, leaving him to go and find the two younger players. They were already sat at a table in the lounge bar, Sascha using the salt and pepper shakers to show a ‘replay’ of his victory against Kevin Anderson in Chicago last year.

They were both full of youthful exuberance, excited to be part of Team Europe for the third edition of the Laver Cup being held in Roger’s home country, and the opportunity to score a hat-trick following the team’s two previous victories.

He joined them, subconsciously taking the seat that faced the entrance so he could keep an eye out for Rafa, who eventually arrived while he was up at the bar getting another round in. Signalling the bartender, he ordered another beer at the Spaniard’s request.

“Drinking before a tournament,” Roger teased. “What would Toni say?”

Rafa grinned. “He cut off _mis cojones_ for to wear _unos pendientes_!” He tugged on his earlobe to illustrate his words. “I think he still forgetting he no my coach no more.”

They returned to the table and the conversation switched from German to English to include Rafa, the four of them discussing the possible match ups they could face over the coming weekend - No. 15 ranked Borna Ćorić and Rafa’s compatriot, Roberto Bautista Agut had taken the remaining spots in Team Europe, while Johnny Mac’s Team World lineup included three Top 10 players, Kei, Kevin and John, Next Gens Diego and Felix, and his doubles secret weapon, Jack Sock.

The teams would be more evenly matched this year than in the previous tournaments - in the inaugural year Team World hadn’t included any Top 10 players, and only two the following year, while Europe had had five and four respectively. Meaning they’d have their work cut out for them as the defending champions.

With the customary welcome ceremony to officially kick start the tournament taking place tomorrow in Place Bourg du Four and a gala event the same evening at the Palais des Nations, Roger had booked a private dining room at a restaurant in the heart of the city’s Old Town for their whole team to enjoy an informal dinner tonight before all the fun and games commenced. The restaurant was only a few minutes away from their hotel so they didn’t bother arranging transport, Roger’s awareness of Rafa heightened by the brush of their shoulders as they walked together and the slight breeze carrying the familiar scent of his cologne to his nostrils.

It was an enjoyable evening with good food and just enough wine to make even the ‘Ice Man’ Bjorn Borg crack a smile. Back at the hotel, they all retreated to their own rooms - Roger had the penthouse suite which had a breathtaking view of the lake from the floor to ceiling windows, although it was strangely quiet without Mirka and the kids. His family would be coming to support him in the tournament but were planning to stay with some friends who lived just outside the city, while Roger had decided for convenience sake to stay at the hotel with the other European players.

As thrilled as he’d been when Rafa had agreed to be part of Team Europe again this year, Roger knew it could never measure up to his memories of the inaugural tournament two years ago in Prague - of his first epic doubles match with Rafa, of them sharing a trophy for the first time...and of the incredible night they’d spent together.

That year, 2017, had been one characterised by significant changes for Roger, as though his injury hiatus of the previous year had been some giant reset button for him both professionally and personally. He’d had his most successful season as well as his first consecutive wins against Rafa in a decade, and somewhere along the way long-forgotten feelings had also been reawakened.

He’d never told anyone about the little crush he’d had on Rafa in the early days of their rivalry - not even Mirka, although she was aware he was also attracted to men. When the Spaniard had first exploded onto the scene and started giving Roger a run for his money, he’d been grudgingly impressed by both his skill and determination on the court, and strangely charmed by his quiet humility off of it, not to mention appreciating his muscular physique and Mediterranean good looks. And there had been times when it was just the two of them, sharing a locker room before a final or doing some promotional event, where Roger had sensed that maybe the attraction hadn’t been all one-sided.

But nothing had ever come of it and time had passed by with his marriage and the births of his children, and Rafa’s own flourishing relationship with the beautiful Mery. In the close to two decades that he’d been with Mirka, he’d never been tempted to stray, but with Rafa, it had always been something more than mere lust - a journalist had once dubbed them ‘unlikely soulmates’; opposite in many ways and yet somehow connected in an existential way.

That night two years ago had been almost a foregone conclusion, both of them riding high on their doubles victory and Roger recklessly accepting Rafa’s invitation to come back to his suite to unwind with some video games. But not even the new Pro Evolution Soccer release had been able to distract him from the Spaniard sitting so close to him on the sofa, their bodies practically touching, and resulting in Rafa’s Ronaldo cruising past Roger’s Messi to score.

He’d celebrated with his usual fist pump, then turned to grin smugly at Roger, faltering at the visible desire in his eyes and shooting him a searching look. He couldn’t recall who’d kissed whom first, but once the fire simmering between them had been lit, there’d been no stopping it until it’d burned itself out.

He hadn’t done anything with another man since he was a teenager playing on the ITF junior circuit and even then his experience had been limited to a few blow jobs with a couple of the other lads on the tour - yet any nervousness he’d felt had been eclipsed by feverish excitement, and he’d only been impatient to finally get his hands on Rafa, to uncover and explore all that beautiful golden skin, not to mention his magnificent arse.

The whole night had been seared onto his memory in glorious Technicolor - seeing his own lust reflected in Rafa’s eyes, the haste with which they’d gotten naked, the first delicious touch of their bodies without the barrier of clothing, and how they’d desperately ground their cocks together until they’d both come embarrassingly fast.

If they’d stopped there, things might have been different, easier, but one brief taste hadn’t come close to quenching Roger’s desire and hunger and he’d dragged a equally willing Rafa into the bedroom where he’d fucked him soundly, the exquisitely tight heat of his arse and the filthy moans tripping out of his mouth compounding to drive him to a second splintering orgasm.

By silent agreement he’d decided to spend the night in Rafa’s room and they’d ended up fucking twice more, once after they’d both woken in the pre-dawn light, and again when they’d showered together before joining the rest of the team for breakfast. They really ought to have known better considering they’d both had singles matches to play on that crucial third day of the tournament, although Roger had just about managed to pull off a win over Kyrgios to secure the trophy for Europe.

It hadn’t been until after the final presser that they’d finally found time to talk and to burst the bubble of unrealistic hope that they could’ve had anything beyond that one stolen night. That they’d both already been unfaithful to the women they loved was enough - neither of them wanted to be ‘that guy’.

Their next meeting in the final in Shanghai had been their last tour match for over eighteen months, and with his prior commitment to play in the Davis Cup semi-final, followed by a flare-up of tendinitis in his knee, Rafa had been unable to participate in last year’s Laver Cup. Roger had thought it was probably for the best considering what had happened in Prague but then hadn’t been able to deny his excitement when Rafa had been the first to sign up for the tournament this year.

When he’d later heard the news of Rafa and Mery’s engagement and that they were planning to get married in the autumn, he’d wondered whether Rafa would change his mind about playing - he could recall the stress of nearly ten years ago when he’d had to try and fit his own wedding in between the Miami Open and the start of the clay season in Monte Carlo. And then the invitation had come in the mail confirming the date had been set for the end of September, a few days after the Laver Cup.

It hadn’t been all that surprising an announcement, given that the couple had been together nearly fifteen years and to anyone who’d seen Rafa with children, it was glaringly obvious how much he wanted his own family. And Mery would be the perfect wife and mother, a beautiful woman both inside and out. Yet for Roger it had still felt like a punch in the gut - as though he was really losing something significant to him. His desire for Rafa had lingered long past the night they’d spent together and was now mingled with a wistful feeling of regret.

He knew it sounded illogical - he couldn’t lose Rafa when he’d never actually had him.

But he wasn’t about to let it ruin the coming weekend; he would enjoy it for what it was - another chance to celebrate the sport he loved and the legends who’d made him love it, and to share it all with someone who he’d realised - too late - meant more to him than he could have imagined. 

*****

 

_I knew a man who was long and tall,_

_He moved his body like a cannonball._

_Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well._

 

The welcome ceremony had been a resounding success, fans having flocked to Place Bourg du Four to see their favourite players. The dinner had also been enjoyable and had included a charity auction to raise money for his foundation and other worthy causes. Although the players had had to limit their imbibing of the free-flowing champagne with a full day of practice scheduled for the next day, followed by the draw ceremony for day one of the tournament.

The first day of matches had been eventful - Roger hadn’t played at all and Rafa had only played in the doubles match, teaming up with Roberto, but losing to Kevin and Jack. Dominic and Borna had also lost their singles matches against Felix and John respectively, with Team Europe’s only win coming from Sascha who’d managed to repeat last year’s victory over Kevin. It was the first year that Team World had held the lead at the end of day one.

They’d fared slightly better on day two, with both Roger and Rafa winning their singles matches, defeating Kei and Diego. However, Roberto had unfortunately lost to Jack, who’d also won the doubles, together with Diego, over Sascha and Dominic.

The third and final day began with the scores at 5-7 in favour of Team World and as Roger showered and dressed, he contemplated Team Europe’s chances of a third straight victory. While he and Rafa were playing two out of the three singles matches today, it was undoubtedly their doubles match which would draw the most interest, with many hoping for a repeat of the last time they’d played on the same side of the court.

On his way down to breakfast the lift had stopped on Rafa’s floor and the morning-fresh Spaniard looked fucking edible when he stepped into the car, hair still damp from the shower and smelling like the citrus body wash he seemed to favour.

They sat together for breakfast, Roger opting for his favourite waffles with fruit, orange juice and coffee.

“Is going to be tough today,” Rafa remarked. “Lots of expectations, no?”

Roger nodded his agreement. “Hmmm, especially for the doubles. Jack’s on fire as usual and John’ll be in servebot mode.”

Neither of them had played doubles since the start of the year in the warm-up tournaments prior to the Australian Open, although they’d had some practice playing against Sascha and Dominic on Thursday.

“You want _la trifecta_ , no?”

Roger grinned. “If only for the champagne.”

His mind flashed back to the celebrations in the dressing room after they’d won the tournament in Prague. The look on Rafa’s face as he’d tried unsuccessfully to dodge the spray from the bottle Roger had opened, and giggling over his later complaints about not having brought a towel with him to the stadium so he could shower.

“I make sure to bring towel this time,” Rafa confirmed, as though he’d read Roger’s mind.

“You’re feeling confident then?”

The Spaniard shrugged. “If you wanting something enough, must be believing you can have...”

Their eyes locked for a split second as though for a moment Rafa hadn’t just been talking about tennis. And then the spell was broken by the arrival of Dominic, Roberto and Borna, with Sascha breezing in shortly after.

Following breakfast, they’d all headed over to the stadium to get some practice in before the gates opened at 11 a.m. He and Rafa were on at midday and the stadium was packed to the rafters, with the opposing team looking entirely too comfortable about their current lead. Having changed into their playing kit and donned their headbands, they both stood in the tunnel waiting to be announced, Rafa being his usual energetic self, bouncing up and down.

Once on court, they won the coin toss and elected to serve first with Roger to start. If was a tough first set with their opponents taking an early lead and then winning the set 6-3. But he and Rafa had held to take the second 6-4 and force a deciding tie-break which they’d won 10-6. As well as giving Team Europe the lead for the first time in the tournament, it had taken him right back to two years ago - feeling Rafa’s hand touch his after every point won and his use of tennis balls to hide their mid-match discussions of tactics. And the hug at the end which lasted only a matter of seconds but was enough for Roger to revel in the heat of his body and his musky scent.

“At least this time you didn’t try to take my head off with a racquet,” Roger remarked with a grin as they towelled off before the on-court interview.

Rafa dissolved into giggles at the reminder of their near-collision at their previous doubles match - when Roger had advanced to return a high mid-court lob from Sam Querrey, he’d been forced to duck after Rafa had leapt in front of him to put away the point with an overhead smash.

Sascha was next up on court facing Kei and after getting changed the pair of them rejoined their team to cheer him on. Unfortunately, the Japanese No.1 didn’t allow him to convert any break points and both sets went to tie breaks with the reigning ATP Finals champion losing 4-7 in the first and 8-10 in the second, putting Team World back in the lead and one match win away from finally lifting the trophy.

Meaning he and Rafa would both need to win their matches to secure a win for Europe. Roger was up first against Kevin - he had a positive head-to-head against the South African, having defeated him on all surfaces apart from his favoured grass. Losing to him in last year’s Wimbledon quarterfinal had been tough, especially in light of his glorious win at SW19 the year before that.

He’d won both of their two matches since in straight sets, including serving him a first set ‘bagel’ at Miami - his first against a top 10 player in four years. And he managed to hold his serve once again for a 6-4, 6-2 victory, leaving Rafa to play the deciding match against John.

The American had never beaten Rafa in an ATP match, but had won their match at the tournament two years ago and he knew Rafa would be determined to avoid a repeat. They stayed on serve for the first five games before Rafa was broken in the sixth and John held to give him a 5-2 lead. But in true Rafa fashion, he dug deep and fought his way through the next five games to take the first set, the second set feeling like a mere formality as the Spaniard virtually decimated his opponent with a 6-1 win.

Roger vividly remembered his own emotions when he’d won the final match in Prague and especially the feeling of Rafa leaping into his arms. This time around the celebration was a little more composed with just a regular hug, but he still couldn’t take his eyes off Rafa, his smile so bright it could rival the sun.

When Rafa smiled, you couldn’t help but smile too.

He smiled continuously through the trophy ceremony and the photo shoot as they all took turns lifting the trophy. As Dominic handed it to Rafa, Roger nudged him.

“No biting this one, okay?”

They eventually returned to their locker room which had already been stocked with champagne and as had become a tradition, they kicked off the celebration by filling the trophy and taking turns to drink out of it. And after the final press conference, they all returned to the hotel to shower and change, having made plans to continue their revelry with a taste of Genevan nightlife.

Thankfully none of the team had flights to catch until the next day - he knew Rafa was planning to fly back to Mallorca first thing in the morning, which made sense with his wedding less than a week away. Roger hadn’t been surprised not to see Mery sitting with Rafa’s family at the tournament and he’d heard him joke to Dominic that she was “knee deep in seating plans”.

They ended up going to a few of the bars that Roger knew, where he introduced them to _Goldschläger_ , a cinnamon flavoured schnapps produced in Switzerland. When it got close midnight, he made the wise decision to call it a night - after all, he wasn’t twenty-one anymore and Sascha was one step away from starting on the absinthe.

When he told Rafa he was off, the Spaniard nodded, finished off his drink and gestured that he would go back with him. They shared a taxi back to the hotel where they headed straight for the lifts - Rafa’s suite was on the fifth floor, but instead of pressing the ‘5’ button, he hit the one embossed with a ‘P’.

Roger frowned and glanced over at him but Rafa said nothing, and when the doors opened at the top floor he exited into the carpeted hallway, leaving a bemused Roger to follow him. He stopped outside the door to the penthouse suite and Roger moved to open the door, fumbling slightly with the key card at the strangely intense look in Rafa’s eyes.

His heart began to beat faster, remembering the last time the two of them were alone in a hotel room. Clearing his throat, he crossed the room to the cocktail bar.

“Do you want a nightcap?”

“No,” Rafa answered and Roger turned to find him within touching distance. “I want... _que me folles_.”

Roger’s eyes widened - his Spanish was weak at best, but he’d spent enough years around Rafa to pick up a few less polite words.

“Raf, I...you’re...” Roger was rarely at a loss for words. “What about...?

Rafa sighed. “She know...I tell her after Prague. But I think she already knowing before that, maybe waiting for to happen, no?”

Roger could understand that - he’d so often felt the same.

“I love her for so long, no? And ignore other feelings...before I come here, she tell me she always love me, _no importa_...no matter what...”

He trailed off with a slight frown, as if he was trying to choose his next words and Roger held his breath.

“We both make the promises, Roger...but just for tonight can we pretend...is just you and me... _por favor_...?”

Roger knew what he ought to do, for the sake of Mirka and his family, and for Mery who had waited nearly fifteen years for Rafa to make an honest woman of her. But perhaps having the chance to make a career out of doing something he truly loved and to pursue it to such stunning heights had made him more selfish that he might want to admit.

It also didn’t help that Rafa had started undoing the buttons of his white shirt, teasing him with glimpses of his tanned and muscular torso. Roger knew he was weak, but fuck he’d never ever stopped wanting Rafa and if this was his last chance to have him, to see him and hear him and taste him, then damn it he was going to take it.

Knocking Rafa’s hands away, he ripped the final couple of buttons from the holes, before dragging the Spaniard against him and capturing his lips, his tongue immediately demanding entry and groaning when Rafa submitted to the onslaught.

He pushed the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms, until it dropped to the floor. His hands were greedy in their exploration, fingers tracing the lines of corded muscle in his arms and down the length of his back, and dipping just below the waistband of jeans to graze the top of his arse, relishing the needy moan that was swallowed up in their kiss.

He hastily steered Rafa towards the bedroom, and once there he pulled back from the kiss, dropping his hands to Rafa’s waistband to undo his jeans, and tugging them down. He pressed a hand to his chest, urging him sit on the end of the bed so he could remove them, along with his shoes and socks, and leaving him naked apart from his white boxer briefs, his hard cock clearly outlined beneath the tight material.

Roger on the other hand was still fully dressed and there was something pretty hot about that dynamic. But the way Rafa was looking at him, undressing him with his eyes, was enough to hasten him to remove his own shirt and jeans, before straddling the Spaniard, pushing him back onto the bed and reclaiming his mouth.

They continued like that for several long moments, exchanging hot, desperate kisses while their bodies found alignment and began searching for friction.

“Fuck, Rafa,” Roger breathed against his lips. “Wanted this again for so long.”

Rafa moaned in agreement. “Sí, _yo también_...I want too.”

It was still hard to believe that this was really happening again, that it wasn’t just one of his more vivid shower-based fantasies - even though the reality of having Rafa beneath him, his mouth wet and kiss-swollen, his honey gold skin flushed with desire and his cock rhythmically grinding against Roger’s own was better than anything his mind could possibly conjure up.

His hand finding purchase in the sheets above Rafa’s left shoulder, Roger dipped his head to mouth at his neck, his lips hovering over the pulse beating wildly beneath his skin. He sucked on the spot, not hard enough to leave a mark - however much he’d like to - but enough to coax a hot moan from the Spaniard.

The sound he then made as Roger’s lips closed around his right nipple was even hotter and filthier - he fervently remembered from their night together in Prague how deliciously sensitive Rafa’s nipples were, and he purposely lingered over the tight little buds, licking and sucking them until Rafa’s moaning turned to begging, his hips starting to move in even tighter circles.

“Roger, _por favor_...I need... _no puedo_...”

“What do you need, baby?” He moved his hand down to toy with the waistband of Rafa’s underwear. “Tell me what you want...”

“ _Por_ _favor_...” Rafa whimpered. “Fuck me...”

The plea went straight to Roger’s cock and he let out a lust-filled groan, his control hanging by a thread. Desperate to comply, he sat back on his haunches between Rafa’s splayed legs, biting his lip as he eased the damp cotton down, freeing the Spaniard’s own beautifully hard cock. Dropping a kiss at the top of one muscled thigh, he dragged himself off the bed.

“Don’t move...I’ll be right back...”

He hurried across the room to the adjoining bathroom, fingers trembling slightly as he rummaged through the contents of his washbag searching for what he needed, and then returned to the bedroom, stopping short at the sight of Rafa now lying in the centre of the bed, right hand closed around his cock and hips arching up into it as he roughly palmed himself.

Roger cursed under his breath in German, dropping the supplies on the already rumpled bedspread, stripping off his own underwear and resuming his place between Rafa’s legs.

“Couldn’t wait, huh, baby?”

Rafa only moaned in response, his grip tightening and Roger’s eyes glazed over at the delicious tableau. His own hand briefly covered the Spaniard’s and he swiped his thumb over the leaking head on the joint upstroke, before lifting it up to his mouth and sucking on the glistening digit.

“Keep touching yourself...” he encouraged as he slid his hands under Rafa’s thighs, easing them back and apart.

His thumbs dipped down to part his cheeks, exposing his puckered entrance and his dick twitched at the sight of it, all pink and inviting. Unable to help himself, he dipped his head and flicked his tongue against it, the move drawing a keening cry from Rafa. His free hand twisted in Roger’s hair to keep him in place - he was such a greedy little thing and Roger was more than happy to oblige him.

Rafa’s arse had been tormenting him from day one and he’d fantasised about doing this on more than one occasion. And nothing turned him on as much as hearing Rafa reduced to mindlessly whimpering in his native language as he carried out a thorough exploration of his hole, tracing the sensitive rim and then pressing forward, the furrowed muscle yielding and Rafa’s darkly intimate taste bursting onto his tongue.

Glancing up, he could see that Rafa’s hand was now clamped around the base of his cock, a telltale sign that he was already close to coming. Blindly reaching out, Roger managed to locate the supplies amid the tangled covers and he was soon replacing his tongue with a lubed finger. Rafa was incredibly tight so he took it deliberately slow until he felt him start to relax and push into the intrusion. Adding a second finger and eventually a third to ensure he was fully stretched, he crooked them and relished in Rafa’s shuddering gasp and the bead of pre-come that leaked from his slit.

Part of him felt like he could have spent hours there, just lazily fingering him, but Rafa was soon grabbing hold of his wrist.

“Roger, _por favor_...I am ready...”

Slipping his fingers out, Roger repositioned himself and then reached out again to grab a condom before Rafa stopped him a second time.

“No, I want...nothing...just you...” He must have seen the hesitation in Roger’s eyes. “Please...I want to feel you...”

At thirty-eight years of age, Roger wasn’t in the habit of being reckless, but the thought of fucking Rafa without any barrier between them was enough to make him throw any caution to the wind - and it wasn’t like either of them regularly slept around; he’d only been with one other person in nearly twenty years and he very much doubted that Rafa had ever cheated on Mery other than with him.

Biting his lip and holding Rafa’s dilated gaze, he put down the little foil packet and retrieved the lube, coating himself liberally and then lining the head up with his waiting hole, he pressed forward and felt the tight heat engulf his cock as he buried it inside.

It was hardly the first time he’d had sex without using protection, but this was unlike anything he’d previously experienced - scorching hot and slick, Rafa’s clenching muscles almost strangling him. And it didn’t help that he was already lifting his hips, causing Roger to slide deeper until he was all the way in to the hilt.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to last long at this rate - he only hoped he didn’t embarrass himself like some kind of teenager. He grit his teeth, clinging to the last shreds of his control, and circled his hips, each thrust drawing increasingly desperate sounds from Rafa.

Knowing this was the last time they’d be together like this, Roger was determined to make Rafa really feel it, for this night to not be easily forgotten. He shifted his body, leaning forward and gently urging Rafa’s knees back until they were pressed against his chest, before lifting the right leg to hook it over his left shoulder. The new angle allowed an even deeper penetration and put the head of his cock in direct contact with Rafa’s sweet spot.

The Spaniard shuddered in response, his eyes flying open and colliding with Roger’s - he felt the pulsing begin at the base of his spine and half-formed thoughts were tumbling out of his mouth.

“Fuck, Raf...you’re amazing, baby...such a beautiful arse...going to come so hard inside it...fuck, are you close?”

“ _Sí_ , _sí_... _tan cerca_...” Rafa sobbed. “So close...please, Roger... _necesito_...”

Roger knew exactly what he needed, his cock lying neglected between them, desperately hard and leaking - he reached down, but he’d barely gotten his hand around it before Rafa was screwing his eyes shut, his fingers digging into Roger’s hips and his whole body starting to shake.

“¡ _Carajo_! _Voy a correrme_...”

He locked his hips, driving deep with a well-aimed thrust and simultaneously stripped his cock, and Rafa cried out, arching like a bow as he came, streaking his torso like an abstract work of art. Unable to hold back any longer, Roger’s thrusts became erratic until he too broke, his hips canting as he filled Rafa’s arse with his release.

Tremors continued to wrack them both as they came down, Rafa whimpering in oversensitivity as Roger pulled out, rubbing his thumb against his leaking hole and then collapsing beside him.

Several minutes passed, their breathing returning to normal, their bodies beginning to cool and post-coital lethargy creeping into their muscles, while Roger searched for something to say - words seemed rather unnecessary when they’d already established what this was...and what it was not.

Falling asleep with Rafa in his arms was perhaps the best ending to the saga that he could have hoped for, a chance to savour the feeling of what could never be his again and cement his memories of this last night spent with the man he could no longer deny that he was in love with.

*****

 

_One of these days, and it won’t be long_

_You’ll call my name and I’ll be gone_

_Fare thee well, oh_ _honey, fare thee well._

 

The sunlight spilled into the room signalling the morning hour and Roger stirred, instinctively reaching for Rafa, only to find the space beside him empty.

He pulled himself up, rubbing his eyes and surveying the scene - the pillow still bore the indent of a head, but the sheets were cool and the only clothes still littering the floor were his own.

He’d already known that Rafa was flying back to Mallorca this morning, he just hadn’t expected him to leave without saying goodbye, even if it would likely have been a bit awkward.

He heard a muffled beeping sound and realising it was his phone, he got up out of the bed and located the device in the pocket of his discarded jeans. He felt a twinge of guilt seeing the message from Mirka, but it wasn’t enough for him to regret what had happened last night. He was supposed to be joining his family at his friends’ chateau for lunch and they’d planned to spend another couple of days there before his parents took the children back to Zurich and he and Mirka flew to Mallorca to attend Rafa’s wedding.

There was only an hour left until he had to check out, so he headed for the bathroom to shower, washing any lingering scent of Rafa from his skin, before packing his bags.

As he waited for the lift to arrive, he felt his phone buzz against his thigh and his breath caught when he saw Rafa’s name on the screen. He quickly unlocked it and opened the message which was only three words.

 _Thank you_ , _Rogelio_.

It had been a long time since Rafa had addressed him using the Spanish version of his name, and it momentarily took him back to earlier and simpler times when pretty much his whole world had revolved around tennis and his rivalry with this sexy young lad from Mallorca who was both a force to be reckoned with on a tennis court and a beautiful ‘human person’ off of it.

Not for the first time he wondered whether he and Rafa would have still met and been drawn to each other if one or both of them hadn’t pursued a professional tennis career. While he could never regret meeting and marrying Mirka because he could never regret having his children, perhaps in a different life, he’d have been the one marrying Rafa on Friday.

He’d already made arrangements to hire a car to drive himself to the chateau and the rep was waiting outside the hotel when he emerged to hand over the keys to a Mercedes SUV. Storing his bags in the boot, he opened the door, glancing back up at the hotel exterior before sliding into the driver’s seat, one persistent thought echoing in his mind.

 _In another life_ , _Rafa_...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading: as always kudos and comments are much appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
>  
> 
> mis cojones = my balls
> 
> unos pendientes = earrings
> 
> [I want] que me folles = [I want] you to fuck me
> 
> no puedo = I can’t
> 
> tan cerca = so close
> 
> necesito = I need
> 
> ¡Carajo! = Fuck
> 
> Voy a correrme = I’m coming


End file.
